


Monster

by achievemenhunter



Series: Scarefest Challenge 2014 [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blood, Gore, M/M, Vampires, mild violence, non-explicit dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievemenhunter/pseuds/achievemenhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Ryan have a big argument, both leaving their house in a huff. Ryan goes for a walk to blow off some steam, and accidentally ends up outside the local bar. Despite his better judgement, he goes inside and proceeds to get very drunk.</p><p>Things go very badly from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell, this one's even longer than the last Scarefest Challenge prompt I wrote for! Dammit, self!
> 
> No character death in this one (shock horror), but there are some content warnings in the tags.

"You know what? Fuck it, I'm not going to deal with this right now. You want to be a bitch, fine, but don't act like it's my fault." Michael glared, grabbing his keys as he stormed towards the front door of their home.

 

"Don't just walk away from me!" Ryan shouted after him, face thunderous as he charged after his argumentative boyfriend.

 

He wasn't even sure what they were fighting about anymore - and it wasn't like they fought often, either. Or, really, at all. They'd had minor disagreements before, but nothing like this, and neither of them were handling things particularly well. Ryan knew that they'd both had rather shitty days, and the argument had started when Michael had made some sarcastic comment that Ryan had misinterpreted entirely. Things had escalated quickly from there, to the point where they'd just begun to yell the most hurtful things they could at each other.

 

If Ryan was being totally honest, Michael was being the mature one, getting away from the argument before one of them said something they really regretted.

 

But, of course, in his heated state of mind, the timid voice in his head telling him this was drowned out by the rest of his brain screaming that Michael was in the wrong and was being completely unreasonable. So he charged after Michael with a scowl as the younger man walked out to his car. "And where the fuck are you going? It's the middle of the goddamn night, Michael!" He didn't even bother keeping his voice down, not really caring all that much if he woke the neighbours.

 

Michael's grip was tight on the car door handle. "I'm going for a drive, I'll be back once we've both calmed down a little. I'm not going to talk to you when you're like this."

 

"Oh, great, running away from the problem, that's a real good solution," Ryan snapped sarcastically.

 

With a forceful yank, Michael opened the car door, looking Ryan dead in the eye. "Yeah, Ryan, you're right. You're the problem right now. I'll be back later." With that, he got in, slamming the door and starting the vehicle. He threw the car into reverse and stomped on the accelerator, already at the bottom of the driveway before he even reached for his seatbelt. Ryan flipped him off as the car tore away from the kerb, feeling a little juvenile but still somewhat validated as he did so.

 

He went back inside, still glowering, but suddenly being cooped up in the house felt unbearably oppressive. Scooping up his keys, his phone and his wallet, Ryan went out the door, locking up behind him. He glanced at his own car sitting in the driveway, but ultimately decided that if the house had felt confining, the car would be even more so.

 

Figuring that the cool night air would do him good at any rate, Ryan set off down the footpath, letting his feet carry him where they would.

 

Twenty-odd minutes of walking found him outside the local pub. He'd never been inside himself, not one to partake in alcohol, but he had picked Michael up after a drunken night out on more than one occasion.

 

"Fuck it," he muttered, and went inside.

 

~* * *~

 

Ryan was several drinks in before his anger abated somewhat and he realised getting plastered was definitely not one of his better ideas. The taste of alcohol was bitter on his tongue, and he made a face as he stood, wobbling dangerously as he made his way to the door.

 

The brisk midnight air brushed against his flushed face, making him feel a little bit better. He turned to his left, and had a reasonable amount of success placing one foot in front of the other, all things considered.

 

That was, until he rounded a corner and immediately collided with someone, losing his balance entirely as they both went down in a tangle of limbs.

 

"God, 'm sorry," Ryan apologised quickly, his words a little slurred. "Here, lemme…" After a second's worth of awkward fumbling, Ryan managed to sort himself out, pulling the stranger to their feet. He saw a messy thatch of brown hair and a slightly oversized nose and a sheepish grin, and he apologised again.

 

"Ah, don't worry about it. 'S my fault too, wasn't looking where I was going." The stranger's words had a pleasant British accent, and Ryan relaxed somewhat at the friendly tone.

 

The man's eyes suddenly flickered over him appreciatively, grin growing wider. "You're _cute_."

 

"…Um?" Ryan supplied helpfully. The stranger grinned even harder, biting his lip in a cheeky manner as he glanced both ways up the street, then grabbed Ryan by the hand and darted towards a nearby alley, dragging a stumbling Ryan after him. "What-" Ryan started to ask… something, he couldn't remember what he was going to say as the stranger pressed him against the alley wall and began to kiss him.

 

"I'm Gavin," the other man breathed against his lips, still smiling.

 

"Ryan," he mumbled in reply. He let Gavin kiss him for a few seconds more, the first threads of arousal coursing through him, before his alcohol-seeped brain caught up with him and screamed at him that even if he was still pissed off at Michael, that was by no means an excuse for kissing random - although admittedly attractive -men in an alleyway. He placed his hands firmly on Gavin's shoulders, pushing just hard enough to move the other man away from him. "Wait, you have to stop, I have a boyfriend-" His words cut off with a harsh cry as Gavin shoved him up against the wall with an unexpected amount of strength, his back thudding painfully against the solid surface as his knuckles scraped against the bricks, Gavin pinning his wrists against the wall. Ryan tried to wriggle free, but Gavin was far stronger than he looked, and all Ryan managed to do was graze the skin over the back of his hands to the point where he started to bleed. He felt Gavin stiffen and breathe in sharply, mouth leaving Ryan's and instead going for the other man's neck. Ryan gasped involuntarily at the sudden change of pace, still struggling to break free despite still being kind of turned on. Gavin placed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against the side of Ryan's throat before his teeth dug into skin, and Ryan briefly thought that they felt sharper than they really should before one of Gavin's hands came down to clamp over his mouth, muffling the blond's scream of pain as teeth tore harshly into his neck. Blood sprang up and washed into Gavin's mouth, coating his tongue. Gavin moaned and hummed as he drank from Ryan, the other man's ineffectual struggles just making the blood well up faster. Ryan felt himself start to go weak at the knees before Gavin pulled away slightly, panting against his throat.

 

"Sorry, couldn't help m'self." Gavin chuckled darkly, still pinning Ryan's wrists to the wall with one hand, and covering the blond's mouth with the other. "All that anger burning inside you… Been ages since I had a good feed from a person. Blood bags just aren't really the same, y'know?" He paused to lap at Ryan's neck once more before continuing. "Still, I can't just go around killing people. Gets me the wrong kind of attention." He sighed softly against Ryan's neck. "Really, I _should_ kill you, since I bit you… but you're so damn pretty, I don't think I can do it. Ah well, it was about time for me to move on from here anyway. Find me when you need me, yeah?" He pulled back completely, grinning mouth stained with Ryan's blood. "Welcome to the family," he said, then darted off down the alley, nimbly scaling the fire escape of one of the buildings and disappearing over the rooftop. Ryan stared up after him uncomprehendingly, his inebriated mind refusing to reconcile what had just happened with any kind of logic.

 

His hand went to his neck, and came away wet and sticky. He stared at his blood-coated fingers for a moment, as if he hadn't expected them to be covered in red, then pressed his palm against the wound, slumping weakly against the wall, his head reeling.

 

 _Welcome to the family_ _?_ What the hell was that supposed to mean?

 

So gradually that at first he didn't even notice, Ryan slowly came to realise that his vision was sharpening, the indistinct shapes of objects in the darkened alley taking on definition. It rapidly approached the point where he could see clearly to the end of the alley, despite the lack of a decent light source. He felt his teeth starting to elongate, growing to wicked points, crying out as they pressed harshly against the skin of his lips. His fingers went to his bite mark once more, barely even flinching as he probed at the open wound. It was practically gaping; Ryan was surprised Gavin hadn't ended up tearing his throat out. His brow furrowed.

 

He'd thought that vampire bites were meant to be a lot neater than that.

 

Then he started giggling hysterically, some part of his mind dimly concerned and certain that he was hallucinating from blood loss. He had been attacked a rather handsome but completely crazy person, who was definitely not a vampire, he told himself. Just someone who apparently had a thing for trying to tear people's throats out with his teeth. It was a bit absurd, but assuredly less so than thinking Gavin was a vampire and had just turned him too. The night vision and sharp teeth were just a figment of his blood-deprived and inebriated mind.

 

They had to be. Vampires weren't even _real_.

 

Groaning, Ryan pushed away from the wall and headed for the mouth of the alley, only stumbling slightly as his feet steered him homeward. He figured that since he could walk in a reasonably straight line, he still had enough blood in him that he didn't need to go to the hospital for a transfusion, especially since the blood flow from the wound seemed to have just about slipped into non-existence. Not to mention that he didn't particularly feel like explaining to anyone how he'd come to acquire the bite wound in the first place. He grimaced when he realised that he'd probably have to go just in case Gavin had been carrying some sort of communicable disease, but decided it was something that could wait until morning. What remained of his blood was still too loaded with alcohol to deal with things at that moment, so he continued to plod home, resolutely ignoring his pointed teeth and perfect night vision.

 

Michael's car was still gone when he got there, and he grimaced as he fumbled for his keys. He younger man had probably gone to crash at his friend Ray's for the night. Ryan quite liked the young Puerto Rican, even though they didn't know each other that well, and Ryan hated the idea that Michael would be bitching Ryan out to him.

 

Then he felt guilty. He could remember even less now what had even started his and Michael's fight, but he was fairly sure that he'd been the instigator. Michael had every right to complain. He finally got the key to turn, and tumbled inside, barely catching himself before he fell on the floor.

 

He shed his clothes as he headed for the bedroom, making a detour to the laundry to dump his shirt and pants. Clad in just his underwear and socks, Ryan headed clumsily for the en suite bathroom, eyes avoiding the mirror as he scrubbed at the blood on his neck with a damp hand towel, ignoring the way his bite stung. He dug out the first aid kit from under the sink and pulled out the disinfectant, blotting it onto a sterile pad and hissing in pain as it came into contact with his open wound. He packed everything away in admittedly slapdash manner, not bothering to cover up his injury - he figured it was best to let it breathe for the night, then enlist Michael's help to wrap it up properly if the younger man returned in the morning.

 

Ryan shook his head, turning back towards the bedroom. _When_ he returned in the morning.

 

With a quiet series of stifled noises, Ryan got as comfortable as he could on the bed and closed his eyes.

 

Despite the pain, he fell asleep within seconds.

 

~* * *~

 

The next morning, Ryan woke at around eleven, and immediately wished he hadn't. His first ever hangover slapped him across the face with brutal force, seeming to rattle his very brain. He didn't even know how he'd gotten home the night before - he remembered the fight with Michael (the thought of which made him wince), he remembered deciding to get drunk for the first time, then about four drinks in… nothing. God, he was a lightweight. There was something about vampires? Maybe? But that didn't make any sense. He shook his head, trying to dispel the odd thoughts, and was quick to regret it.

 

Ryan felt like there was an axe splitting his skull open, a persistent pounding behind his eyes, and shaking his head had made it about a thousand times worse. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, which was like a sun-baked desert, his throat aching with the need for a drink. With a groan, he dragged himself from the bed - which felt cold without Michael, who still hadn't seemed to have returned home yet - and into the kitchen, slurping water straight from the tap in an attempt to slake his thirst. If anything, it seemed to make things worse, like his body was rejecting the cool liquid. Then his stomach heaved and he retched horribly, water and bile splattering into the sink. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, groaning again as he slumped over the sink for a few seconds before straightening up.

 

Hunger gnawed at his sides, and despite his queasiness, he tottered over to the fridge, opening it and letting his gaze rake over its contents for something that wouldn't make him throw up again.

 

His eyes lit upon the big, juicy steak in the meat drawer.

 

Before he could stop himself, he tore the drawer open, ripped off the shrink-wrap packaging, and sank his teeth into the succulent steak, sucking greedily. His eyelids fluttered shut with bliss as his stomach informed that yes, this was good and Ryan should continue to… suck the blood from a piece of raw meat?

 

His eyes snapped open and he flung the steak away from him, now slightly shrunken and greying. It landed in the sink with a wet splat.

 

Ryan started to breathe heavily, practically hyperventilating. Why the hell had he just _done_ that? What was happening? He knew his friends joked about it all the time, but was it possible he was actually going insane? Sucking the blood from a piece of steak was in no way normal behaviour. With trembling fingers, Ryan reached for his mouth, and choked on a terrified sob when he felt how sharp and… _fang-like_ his teeth were.

 

He… he couldn't _actually_ be turning into a vampire, right? Because it was either that, or he really was going insane. He wasn't sure which option he preferred less.

 

He rushed to the bathroom that joined to his and Michael's bedroom, still frantically trying to come up with a logical explanation for things when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and froze.

 

God, he was terrifying.

 

His fangs - he didn't know if he could really call them teeth anymore - jutted from his gums, clogged with bits of raw steak and coated with blood that stained all the way from his mouth, down his neck, to the front of his shirt. The blood even covered his fingers and palms. A few thin red lines had dribbled down his forearms as he'd drained the steak, and now the droplets of blood were trying to reverse their path before they coagulated. His eyes were bloodshot and dilated, heavy bags circling darkly under the bottom lids. He looked like he'd just murdered someone.

 

A flash of horrified disgust shot through him as he unconsciously licked his lips and enjoyed the taste, a small, satisfied smile quirking his lips before he could stop it.

 

He looked like a goddamn monster.

 

No. He looked like a _vampire_.

 

He whirled in place, hunkering down and pressing his back against the cupboard beneath the sink so that he didn't have to look at his reflection anymore. He dug his fingers into his hair, winced at the feeling of drying blood against his scalp, and tugged hard.

 

But vampires didn't have reflections, right? Ryan loosened his grip on his hair, already starting to calm a little. Sure, it made no scientific sense for something entirely visible to have no reflection, but it was a well-documented fact about vampires that they didn't have a reflection, wasn't it?

 

Then he snorted. Vampires weren't fucking _real_. There had to be a logical explanation for what was happening, if he could just get a grip he'd be able to piece together what had happened the night before.

 

He'd feel better once he showered, he decided, standing slowly and padding towards the shower. He turned the hot tap to full blast, and steam built up quickly as the water heated. He stepped under the spray, hissing quietly at the pleasure-pain of the hot water on his skin. Eyes closed, he reached for the soap pump and lathered himself up. His nails scrubbed hard at the blood clinging to his skin, suds rinsing his body, as though if he rubbed his skin roughly enough, it would be like he'd never chowed down on a piece of raw steak like a fucking animal. A trembling breath passed his lips and he scrunched his eyes shut tight.

 

Once he was as clean as he was going to get, he let out a quiet sigh, leaning his forehead against the cool tiles as the scalding water pounded against his back.

 

His hand went to his neck and he frowned, a nagging sensation tugging at his mind telling him he should be feeling something there. He turned off the shower and stepped out, towelling himself off as he walked back towards the mirror. If he kept his mouth shut, he could ignore his fang-teeth, so he did just that, lips clamped shut as he arched his neck, inspecting the smooth skin in his reflection.

 

Wait, hadn't he been… bitten by… someone…

 

The memory of Gavin kissing him crashed through Ryan like a falling building, and he felt as if he'd just swallowed several bricks.

 

He'd cheated on Michael.

 

Sure, it had only been a kiss, and Ryan had been properly drunk for the first time, but he'd still allowed another man to kiss him.

 

At least he'd told Gavin to stop after a few seconds, if his returning memory was serving him correctly. Then… Gavin had pinned him to the wall with strength disproportionate to his slender build and bitten Ryan.

 

His brow furrowed as he looked at his reflection, not a single bite mark on his neck. Not even a bruise. But he was remembering, with increasing clarity, the way pain had flared under his skin, his mind going foggy as Gavin drank several pints of Ryan's blood straight from the source. How he'd seen the Brit's mouth dripping red before he'd darted off into the darkness of the alley, how Ryan had held his fingers against his neck and felt the jagged wound in the flesh there.

 

Flesh that was now perfectly smooth, not showing a single sign of being torn open the night before.

 

With a sudden twisting, sinking feeling, Ryan swivelled his body to look at the back of his calf. When he was ten, he'd fallen out of a tree, legs catching on the branches as he tumbled helplessly through the air. Somehow, he hadn't broken or sprained anything, but he had received an impressive amount of bruising and a very nasty scar on his lower leg, one that had stuck with him throughout his whole life.

 

Now it was gone.

 

"What the fuck," he said shakily, the words sounding strange as he struggled to shape his lips properly over his enlarged teeth.

 

He came to the conclusion that this was all way too weird and realistic to be caused by insanity when he heard the front door click open. Shaking himself from his stupor, he dashed from the en suite into the bedroom, hastily throwing on some clothes. His argument with Michael the day before seemed so petty and stupid now. There were more important things to deal with - namely, the fact that Ryan had apparently been turned into a member of the immortal undead, a concept that he was still trying to properly wrap his head around.

 

He was scared. He needed help.

 

The thought suddenly occurred to him that if he really had become a blood-sucking monster, then surely the last person he should be around was Michael. But he was already walking into the living room, nostrils flaring as an indescribably tantalising scent pervaded his senses, and it was too late. His eyes fixed on Michael and he charged across the room. Michael turned, saw the forceful movement, and misinterpreted it, assuming that Ryan was about to get all up in his face again. "Ryan, I swear to fucking Christ, if you start- mmph!" His words were cut off as Ryan crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss, pushing the younger man towards the wall.

 

But Michael was having none of it.

 

"I'm still mad at you, you fuck!" Michael yelled against his lips, angrily shoving Ryan away. His rage only seemed to grow as he saw Ryan's jagged teeth, now so large he could barely close his mouth anymore. "And you really think _now's_ the best time to start pulling out Halloween shit?" he asked, gesturing forcefully at the older man's face. "What the actual fuck, Ryan?"

 

"I want you," Ryan growled low in the back of his throat, pinning Michael to the wall by his wrists. The younger man's breath hitched slightly, momentarily forgetting his anger, but then his forceful glare returned.

 

"You can't fix an argument with sex, Ryan!" he retorted, trying to squirm out of Ryan's grasp. He cried out as the older man's grip tightened painfully, their bodies flush. "Dammit- fuck, Ryan, you're hurting me!" A tendril of fear curled through his words as Ryan's sharp teeth scraped over his jawline, so close to breaking skin. "At least take out the fake teeth, they're fucking weird," he pleaded, intent on running for it as soon Ryan moved to get rid of the fake fangs. This was too bizarre, and frankly too scary, for Michael to deal with, especially after the fight they'd had the night before. Ryan was being far creepier than he usually was when he was joking, and Michael was starting to becoming genuinely frightened. Part of him was waiting, hoping for Ryan to start laughing, to say something sheepish about how he'd thought a joke would help lighten the mood between them, then apologise for the fight and fix them both a special lunch as a way of saying sorry, and everything would go back to normal.

 

But when Ryan pulled away, his actions were far from reassuring. There was a hint of something vulnerable in his eyes, largely overshadowed by this hungry look that made Michael feel suddenly weak and frail. "They're real, Michael," he said softly, the vulnerability fading and a predatory grin stretching across his face in its place, letting Michael see that each tooth - _fang_ \- attached directly to Ryan's gums and were very much the genuine article.

 

"I don't- what the fuck- what the fuck is this, Ryan," Michael whispered, voice shaking horribly.

 

"I told you," Ryan all but purred, now pinning Michael's wrists with only one hand despite the younger man's struggles, the other fisting tightly in his curls. "I _want_ you." His breath trembled against Michael's neck as he fought to hold himself back, to savour it. He laved his tongue over the milky skin of Michael's neck, groaning as he felt the younger man's fluttering pulse against his tongue. So delicate, so fragile.

 

And so damn enticing.

 

"Ryan, please," Michael begged, firmly terrified as Ryan's teeth, coated with saliva in anticipation for the meal ahead, pressed against his neck, almost at the point of breaking through. Some primitive part of his mind told Michael that Bad Things would happen if they did, and his already racing pulse increased even further. His voice rose in pitch until he was screaming, straining ineffectually against the older man's grip. "Please don't, Ryan, whatever's going on, I can help you, just don't do this, please, _stop_!" He sobbed, salty tears tracking their way down his petrified face.

 

Something in Michael's desperate voice pierced through the heady fog that had settled over Ryan's mind, and he realised with a sudden clarity that if he bit Michael, if he tasted even a single drop of the younger man's blood, there was no way he'd be able to stop himself. He'd kill the man he loved.

 

Ryan pulled away, jaw clenched painfully as he shot Michael a pleading look. "Run," he whispered as he stumbled back, hands gripping the top of the couch to stop himself from charging forward again. His fingers dug in - too hard - and the leather split, ten clawed lines opening up in the fabric. His eyes were wide with panic, pupils blown and almost entirely consuming the clear blue of his irises. The younger man seemed frozen against the wall. "Michael, run!" he roared frantically, hunched over, chest heaving and nostrils flaring as he resisted his desperate desire to launch himself at Michael's neck - something that was becoming more and more difficult to ignore with every second that passed.

 

Michael's body seemed to come unstuck and he dashed from the living room. But, rather than heading for the front door and leading Ryan outside, where the older man might potentially hurt an innocent passer-by, he went in the opposite direction, taking him further into their small home.

 

"Run," Ryan whispered again, but this time he followed the word with a short chuckle, movements loose and easy as he straightened and followed the scent trail Michael had left through their house. Not that the slamming of their bedroom door wouldn't have clued him in to Michael's location regardless, but letting Michael's scent guide him was much more satisfying.

 

He rattled the door knob, but Michael was already sitting with his back against it, using his body to stop Ryan from entering the room.

 

"Let me in, Michael," he growled, pounding his fist against the door. Paint and wood crackled underneath his knuckles.

 

"Fight it, Ryan!" Michael yelled through the door. "I don't know what the fuck's happening right now, but I know you're still in there!"

 

"I just want to talk," Ryan crooned, not entirely able to keep the menace out of his voice as he curled his fingers against the door. "I'm sorry for our fight last night, why don't you let me in so I can apologise properly? I want you, Michael." Desperation started to filter through his words, his fangs aching with the desire to sink into Michael's pale throat and drain him dry. "I need you, I need to taste you, I _need_ it!"

 

"Oh yeah, I'm definitely letting you in now!" Michael shouted back at him sarcastically, voice high and tight with fear. "Fucking fight it, don't let this beat you!" Ryan snarled and stood back, giving himself room before launching a kick at the door. The whole frame shook, the wood loudly cracking and splintering around the hinges. He heard Michael grunt as the kick vibrated through the younger man's back.

 

One more kick would see the hinges giving out completely. Ryan steadied himself, then his foot flew at the door, sending it careering off its hinges and into the room, fracturing further as it slammed against the frame of their bed. Ryan charged into the little entryway that led into their room, but just as he reached the end of it Michael spun around the corner, the metal bat he kept in the closet in case of a home invasion in his hands, already mid-swing. Ryan didn't even have time to react.

 

The aluminium clanged dully as it bent around the shape of Ryan's head, a huge kink forming in the middle of the bat as Ryan's skull refused to give way. The concussive force was still more than enough to slam the older man's brain against the inside of his skull, though, and he practically flew off his feet. He bounced off of the wall limply, jaw slack as he slid to the floor.

 

Michael let out a sob that was part relief and part horror at what he'd just done. Ryan's features softened in unconsciousness, jagged fangs receding into blunt, human-looking teeth, his bloodlust-blown pupils hidden behind closed eyelids. The realisation that he'd just knocked Ryan out hit Michael like a metaphorical truck.

 

Hands trembling around the deformed bat, he looked down at his insensible boyfriend and whispered, "What the fuck do I do now?"


End file.
